


Until Eternity

by elliex



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ignores CACW (though I love that movie), M/M, Post TWS, References to past angst, heartwarming ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:32:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10086365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: A Romance for the Ages: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes-----Steve tips his head back and laughs, his laughter deepening when Bucky joins in. When they finally stop, Bucky’s head is leaning comfortably against Steve’s shoulder."Told you then. Telling you now. Till the end of the line," Bucky says.





	

**===================**

**BROOKLYN HEIGHTS**

Yg workg Guy, 22, has 2 bdrm

apt to share w/ 1 workg guy

or student. Avail in Feb.

Main 5-5383

**===================**

 

* * *

Pictured above:

Classified from the December 29, 1939

edition of _The Brooklyn Daily Eagle._

 

In failing health, Rogers determined

to locate a new roommate for Barnes.

* * *

 

Steve threads his way briskly through the crowd. He can see the museum ahead, and his phone is still lit up with Bucky’s text: “yr exhibit”

 

Today’s meeting with Coulson had been particularly brutal. Bucky had gamely gone along with the questions – since he’d returned with Steve and Sam from Bucharest two months ago, he’d been doing his best to help – but even his desire for redemption couldn’t outweigh the toll of trauma he always carried.

 

When Coulson had brought up recent pictures of a burned-out orphanage, Bucky had stood abruptly, silently, and left without even a glance in Steve’s direction.

 

“Too far,” Steve had barked.

 

Coulson had regarded him evenly. “I have questions. I need answers.”

 

“He’s given more than _any_ of you deserve already.”

 

“He wants to help.” Coulson had looked towards the door. “Or did.”

 

“He _does_ ,” Steve had spat. He’d jabbed a finger at the projected images. “ _That?_ Bucky’s not at fault for that.”

 

“Then why’d he leave?”

 

Steve had stood, upturning his chair. He’d leaned on the table and stared Coulson down. “Maybe because that’s the same building that Hydra used for his conditioning in the late 70s, long after the orphanage had been shut down. Maybe because he suffered untold horrors there that still keep him up at night. Or _maybe_ it’s because he knows _I_ torched that godforsaken place, and he’s trying to protect _me_.”

 

Coulson’s eyes had widened, but he’d said nothing.

 

“That’s right,” Steve had said. “ _I_ torched it. Not him. He was in Bucharest hiding from me and buying plums – he was _healing_. _I’m_ the one who stole the encrypted files, who used that info to track down the locations, who bombed and buried everything I could.”

 

Steve had slammed his hands on the table. “Until you get that Bucky is a goddamned hero – and was a prisoner of war for _decades_ – we are done. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.” Coulson had nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

 

Steve had snorted. “I make no promises to answer. And don’t even bother contacting Bucky. I can guaran-damn-tee he’s already killed his phone.”

 

“We have sensors in—“

 

Steve had let loose a staccato laugh. “You _had_. He removed those _weeks_ ago.” Steve had shaken his head. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with…” He’d trailed off and paused before meeting Coulson’s eyes deliberately. “When it comes to either of us, do you? I recommend you study up before we meet again – _if_ we meet again.”

 

Steve had stalked out of the room after that, and he’d barely made it out of the building when his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. He’d read the text and immediately headed for the museum.

 

Halfway there, he realizes a quick detour is in order, and he quickly purchases two pairs of reflective sunglasses and a cap from a sidewalk kiosk. He pulls the brim of his new black hat low and slips on his glasses, putting the other pair in his jacket pocket. Bucky may need them.

 

He realizes he’s still getting looks from passersby, so he takes a deep breath and sinks into himself. He doesn’t know how else to describe what he does – even Sam and Bucky have commented on it – but he imagines his pre-serum self and just… sinks back into that sense of self, adjusting his posture, his pace, his sense of physical readiness.

 

It works. People walking by stop noticing him, and he begins to relax. It takes a few more minutes of incognito mode before he feels any semblance of calm. But that’s enough to give him a twinge of sympathy for the staff members who’d practically dove out of his way when he’d exited Coulson’s office. He pushes that away though – he can’t afford worry for anyone else until he knows what shape Bucky’s in.

 

+

 

It takes Steve a moment to spot him in the exhibit’s low light. When he does, he can’t help smiling, even as the hunch of Bucky’s shoulders knots his stomach with worry.

 

Bucky stares intently at the exhibit, oblivious to the people milling about. Steve looks around the room, trying to remember what’s in that particular display case.

 

 _Oh_.

 

“Shit,” Steve mutters. On today of all days, he doesn’t want Bucky to remember _that_.

 

He can tell from the way Bucky’s posture suddenly shifts that his arrival has been noted. He cuts through a tour group and takes his place at Bucky’s left.

 

Bucky’s wide blue eyes are fixed on the preserved piece of newspaper. Steve staves off the long silence that he knows – he _knows_ – is threatening their horizon.

 

“Hey, Buck,” he murmurs.

 

Bucky tilts his head, eyes still fixed on the artifact. “You let them have this. Why?”

 

Steve snorts. “I didn’t let them have anything.”

 

Bucky turns and looks at him. “They took it?”

 

Steve knows he’s not imagining the glint of danger in Bucky’s eyes, and when Buck’s left arm moves minutely, Steve reaches out and grasps his gloved hand to forestall any glass breakage.

 

Steve shakes his head. “No – I mean. They thought I was dead. Thought you were dead.” Bucky’s arm relaxes, and Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “I was in the ice, so everything was fair game.”

 

Bucky’s gaze returns to the clipping. “They can’t – they shouldn’t have that.”

 

“If you want it, I can request it,” Steve offers.

 

“No.” Bucky sighs. “I don’t want that one. I want…” His voice trails off, and he presses his lips together tightly.

 

“Want what?”

 

“The original.” Bucky pulls his hand from Steve’s and walks around the exhibit, towards an until-now hidden door.

 

Steve follows, his heart in his throat.

 

Bucky leads them into a small alcove, clearly intended for employees only. He’s already sitting on the floor, facing the door, back to the wall and knees up before Steve can shut the door and jimmy the lock so that no one else can enter.

 

Bucky’s not meeting Steve’s eyes, and Steve’s heart is thundering in his ears. He transfers his wallet to his jacket pocket before settling next to Bucky on the floor.

 

He clears his throat. “You remember that?”

 

Bucky snorts. “Of course.” He nudges Steve with his elbow. “I even remember that you used to put newspapers in your shoes.”

 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Because you had such giant feet.”

 

Bucky smiles. “Because you had such small feet.”

 

The smile fades too quickly, though. Steve’s chest grows tight, so much like it did on that miserable afternoon all those years ago.

 

He pulls out his wallet but doesn’t meet Bucky’s watchful gaze. He pulls out a well-folded piece of paper and hands it to Bucky.

 

“This is it?”

 

“A copy. The original’s in a case in the safe in—”

 

“Your study. Knew there was something behind that landscape painting.”

 

Steve laughs. “I never could hide anything from you, Buck.”

 

Bucky holds the piece of paper up in the air. “You hid this.”

 

“Not for long.”

 

“No, not for long.”

 

Without opening the paper, Bucky begins to recite words that Steve had first put to paper on a chill winter’s day when piercing pain was the companion of his every breath.

 

_I’m looking for someone for one Bucky Barnes – suave, debonair, and the one person who can make me feel like the world is an okay place after all._

_He’s the kind of guy who brings you gifts for no reason. This pen I’m writing with was a gift from him._

_He’s the kind of guy who works an extra shift so that he can buy you said gift. And then, when he gives you the gift, he’ll smile, wink, and say, “Aw, it was nothin’.”_

_He steals the covers at night, but he’s also an octopus. And there’s little I love more than being the little spoon to his big._

_And there’s nothing I love more than the feel of his mouth on me._

_He’s got a gorgeous smile and eyes that can see into your soul._

_He’s a good man, and he deserves the best._

_He needs a good person to be in his life, to be his friend, to remind him he’s a person whose needs are important too – that he can’t_

 

Bucky’s voice breaks a little here, and Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s thigh and squeezes. He ignores the tears in his own eyes and picks up where Bucky left off:

 

_That he can’t grieve forever. I’ll miss him. And I know he’ll miss me. But he’s got too much going for him not to live. I just wish I could be there to see it._

 

Steve wipes his eyes with the palm of his free hand. They sit in silence for a long moment.

 

“Why’d you keep it?,” Bucky asks, his voice thick.

 

Steve glances over; a single tear tracks its way down Bucky's cheek. Steve uses the pad of his thumb to wipe it away as he answers. “The museum had it, along with our private sketches and some letters. They’d been uncertain about using any of those materials, so when I thawed out, they returned them to me.”

 

“You could’ve thrown it away then. You definitely didn’t have to start keeping it in your wallet.” Bucky gives him a wry, knowing look.

 

Steve shrugs and gently squeezes Bucky’s thigh. “I was here, Buck. And I was _alive_. You weren’t as far as I knew. That,” he nods towards the still-folded piece of paper, “reminds me so vividly of our lives before the war.”

 

Steve laughs softly. “I still remember how you came in that day, with oranges and fresh fish for dinner. You found that letter and—”

 

“Lost it,” Bucky finishes. “And then when I saw the classified you _actually_ ran, I broke every dish we owned. Had to work extra shifts just to get us some new stuff.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, replaying that week in his mind – the shattered plates, the tearful conversations, the…. He begins to grin. “The making up _was_ fun, though.”

 

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, it was.” He sobers quickly. “I still remember how I nearly lost you a month later, though.”

 

Steve nods. He remembers that, too. Bucky, distraught and frantic, had even called the priest. When he’d opened his eyes to morning, Bucky had been wrapped around Steve’s frail body. Steve had felt wetness against his neck and realized that Bucky, who had Steve pulled to his chest, was crying in his sleep. Steve swallows hard at the memory.

 

“We’re here, though. Against all odds – we’re _here_ ,” he says.

 

“But I’m not that man anymore, Steve.”

 

“You’re you. That’s all I need – all I want. And, hey, if you want to get technical, I’m not who I was then anymore, either.”

 

“Yeah, you are.” Bucky counters. “Full of piss and vinegar and hiding it behind a pretty face, just like then.”

 

Steve tips his head back and laughs, his laughter deepening when Bucky joins in. When they finally stop, Bucky’s head is leaning comfortably against Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Told you then. Telling you now. Till the end of the line,” Bucky says.

 

“Till the end of the line,” Steve agrees, leaning his head to rest against Bucky’s. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s hair against his skin, the sound of their synced breaths. He never wants to be without Bucky, and he never wants people to misunderstand how important this man is to him ever again.

 

“You know we can make this official,” he says. He’s already contemplating the long-term brilliance of his brewing plan. He just has to get Bucky on board.

 

“Like we’re not already married,” Bucky retorts.

 

“I mean, _official_ official.”

 

Bucky raises his head and gives Steve a puzzled look. “You want the whole nine yards?”

 

“No. Well, yes, but not –” Steve gestures around – “with frills and whatever. I want you, me, a priest, and maybe Sam--"

 

“And Tasha. She’ll garrote us otherwise.”

 

“Good point. And Tasha. That’s it. Maybe on a beach somewhere?”

 

“Sounds good. You taking my name?”

 

“Let’s hyphenate.”

 

“Works for me. Gold or silver bands?”

 

“Vibranium.”

 

“Fitting.” Bucky smiles slowly and licks his teeth. “Honeymoon?”

 

Steve feels the intended rush of heat. “Here, if you don’t stop that.” He presses his lips to Bucky’s inviting mouth in a hard kiss that quickly turns lingering.

 

When they pull apart, Bucky smirks. “Well, we’ve got the wedding planned. Honeymoon’s a lifetime sentence. What else?”

 

“ _Official_ official,” Steve repeats.

 

“You’re losing me. What’s more official than a public record marriage between two wartime ghosts?”

 

Steve grins. “Wanna rewrite history?”

 

+

**Shortly Thereafter**

 

“Dude, you clean up nice,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

 

“So do you,” Steve says.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Sam agrees. “So how are you enjoying Paradise?”

 

Steve grips the porch rail and surveys the landscape below, where waves crash against the shore and sea gulls search for their next meal. It's beautiful. And while the bungalow is small and simple, it's given he and Bucky plenty of surface space to christen.

 

“That much, huh?,” Sam asks with a knowing grin.

 

Steve grins and ducks his head. “It’s nice being the only two people on a deserted island.”

 

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, you been keeping up with headlines this week?”

 

Steve grimaces. “No. We have our comms and that’s it.”

 

“So you don’t know about the frenzy you two have created?”

 

“Oh, we know,” Bucky says, stepping out onto the porch and sliding the glass door shut behind him. “Why do you think I disabled all of our other devices?”

 

He uses his hand to shield his eyes. “Where’s Tasha and that priest?”

 

Sam’s cell buzzes. “Landing now,” he reports.

 

“I swear she has you bugged,” Steve says.

 

Bucky ponders that a moment. “Of anyone, she could.” He shrugs. “She’s been getting an earful if she has, though.”

 

Steve’s ears pink. “Bucky!”

 

Bucky waggles his eyebrows. “And gonna hear more tonight.” He slips his right arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him close, running his fingers up and down Steve’s ribs. He kisses the bolt of Steve’s jaw and raises an eyebrow in a universal signal.

 

“Bucky,” Steve says again, though this time his voice is deeper and throaty.

 

“No. None of that,” Sam interjects. “For the love of me, _please_.”

 

Bucky gives Sam a long look. “I would’ve pegged you for someone who _liked_ to watch.”

 

Sam rears back. “Okay, one? _You_ aren’t pegging me. Ever. And two? – ”

 

A sudden uptick of wind cuts Sam off, and announces the arrival of the Natasha and the priest… who turns out to be Tony Stark.

 

“Are you kidding me?,” Sam asks the air.

 

“Hello. Welcome. Glad to be here,” Tony announces, holding his arms wide as he walks up the wooden sidewalk to the bungalow.

 

“Tony,” Steve says, exchanging a loaded look with Bucky. “We didn’t expect you here.”

 

“I know, and I am heartbroken, Steven. _Heartbroken_.”

 

“Um. You know that I—“

 

Tony cuts Bucky off. “Yeah, we’ve had that convo, Terminator. Jesus. How badly is your brain still scrambled? That happened like… two months ago.”

 

“So, we’re good?’ Bucky’s disbelief is etched on his face.

 

Tony gets serious for a moment. “Yeah, Bucky, we’re good. To say for the millionth time – that wasn’t you. You weren’t in full control, you couldn’t say no, etcetera, etcetera. Did I want to kill you at first? Well, yeah.” Tony shrugs. “But I got ordained _just_ so I could perform this wedding ceremony, and if that doesn’t say forgiveness, then I don’t know what will.”

 

Stark snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah, I do.” He hands over a piece of paper.

 

Bucky reads it and passes it to Steve. “You are something else.”

 

“That I am. That I am,” Tony agrees.

 

Steve meets Bucky’s gaze and speaks for both of them. “Thank you, Tony.”

 

“You’re welcome. Both of you. And if you haven’t explored yet – and judging by the lingering hickeys on both your necks… and how hard do you have to suck to make a hickey last on _either_ of you. I mean, dear God… I’m guessing you haven’t. Ingrates. Anyway, there’s an awesome house on the other side of this presumed-deserted-island-that-now-belongs-to-you. Fully outfitted. You even have a Jarvis Jr. to run things for you.”

 

“Oh, and I brought a gift, too,” Natasha offers, handing over a gorgeously wrapped flat box.

 

“Thanks, Tash,” Bucky says, kissing her cheek and passing the box to Steve.

 

“I didn’t get a kiss,” Tony pouts.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes and kisses Tony’s cheek, eliciting a cackle and a grin. Bucky takes a step towards Sam, who grins, takes a step back, and holds his hands up. “Nah, man. We’re good.”

 

“Look, Buck,” Steve says. He’s already unwrapped the package. It’s a recent copy of _The New York Times_ and a full-spread headline is dedicated to them: **A Romance for the Ages: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes**

 

Steve scans the page and whistles. “They compare us to Bogart and Bacall.”

 

“Actually, they compare Bogart and Bacall to the two of you – they compare _every_ famous romance to the two of you, and at least in the world of online polls, Rogers-Barnes slays the competition,” Natasha clarifies.

 

“Wow,” Steve says.

 

“Well, you wanted to make it official _official_ ,” Bucky reminds him.

 

“I have presents from all over the world and even gifts from your favorite extraterrestrials waiting for you guys at the Tower. You’re _definitely_ official official,” Tony adds.

 

“Did they update the exhibit yet?,” Bucky asks.

 

Sam laughs. “Oh, man. The museum had to hire extra security. The number of people lining up to read Steve’s love letter about the one and only Bucky Barnes is off the charts.”

 

“And there’s a lot of murmuring about private sketches,” Natasha offers. “Care to share those with the world, too?”

 

Steve and Bucky share an amused look that quickly turns heated. “No,” they answer together.

 

Natasha laughs. “Probably a good thing.”

 

“True,” Sam agrees. “The world's enough of a dumpster fire as it is these days. Add in sexy Barnes-Rogers – or is it Rogers-Barnes? – nekkid pics and the whole place will implode.”

 

Steve’s ears aren’t the only ones that turn red at that. “Can we get on with the ceremony and stop talking about us being naked?,” Bucky asks.

 

Tony’s already heading towards the beach. He raises a hand and gestures for them to follow. “Assume the positions,” he yells back.

 

+

 

The sun's lowering to meet the horizon when the wedding party assembles. Their tailored white suits with white rose boutonnieres stand out against the pristine beach and the vivid blues that surround them. The sand is warm between their toes.

 

Natasha’s watching Bucky and Steve whispering at the water’s edge. “They’re like models come to life,” she murmurs to Sam.

 

“Like you’re a slouch, Romanoff,” Sam scoffs. He smiles when Natasha blushes and straightens the edge of her white jacket.

 

With pink cheeks and dancing blue eyes, the grooms take their places in front of Tony. _Damn, they are beautiful_ , he thinks before stepping to Steve’s side. Natasha steps to Bucky’s.

 

Everyone is wearing a grin when Tony begins, “Dearly beloved…”

 

The ceremony is a short one, unlike the love it affirms – one destined to grow until eternity.

 

* * *

Pictured above:

(Left) Classified from the December 29, 1939

edition of _The Brooklyn Daily Eagle._

 

In failing health, Rogers determined to locate a

new roommate for Barnes. This classified is the

advertisement he chose to publish.

 

(Right) This unpublished letter reveals the true depths

of the legendary relationship between Rogers and Barnes.

 

This artifact is on loan from the private documents of

Steve and Bucky Rogers-Barnes.

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
>  
> 
> This fic was inspired by a conversation about the heartbreaking yet heartwarming NY Times piece, "You May Want To Marry My Husband."


End file.
